INSANE
by Mikael-Macbeth
Summary: [ONESHOT DRABBLE, GreedKimbley...?, only slight language, defnite weirdness] ...You're insane. ...I can think of much better.


**AN: (Hah, ANAL NOURISHMENT! Ah, thank you Redd!) Anyway, I pretty much wrote this last night around midnight when I should have been in bed sleeping. :/ I really like this, though. It makes me... shiver. This takes place anywhere after episode 34 and before 39. So, if you're not that far, please don't read. :3 Obvious GreedKimbley references, with a twist. C;**

**This is my tribute to my thesaurus. I love you, babe. XD**

**Disclaimer: I do not own FullMetal Alchemist or any of its characters. I just expand upon them with my humble fanfictions. C:**

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_INSANE_

By K. L. Vest

_Insane_ hardly covers it, he thought, then wiped excess glue onto his loose night-shirt. 

Though this is how he felt, given the circumstances of his recent release from the grips of a certain Homunculus and shove back into the clutches of a neat, organized, and pristine military. The word _insane_ was light enough to describe how he felt trapped up in Frank Archer's attic with little else to do than small random hobbies that involved no contact what-so-ever with any kind of explosive material. Yes, _insane_ even covered and summed how he felt under the constant pressure of… guilt, maybe? Regret? For what, he could not place his finger, but it sure as Hell made him _insane_.

Cursing softly to himself, the reinstated Crimson Alchemist squeezed the bottle a little harder, tempted to throw the damn thing against the wall for its blatant insolence.

He recalled a time when he had been younger, when his lust for blood had not been so quelled by the stench of a dank cramped prison cell. He remembered a certain… _Roy Mustang_ had said something to him—

_You're insane._

_Insane?_ he had asked, then laughed.

_I can think of much better._

One could be content with _crazy_; it's flat, but it can suffice. _Cracked_ is trickier, implying that sanity had had a home in the head once but had gone for a permanent lunch-break. The word _deranged_ resounds nicely, as does _disordered_. Oh, the list goes on, though: _brainsick, mad, maniacal, unsound, unfit, daft, daffy, batty, mental, wacky, eccentric_, etcetera, etcetera.

"Damn," he swore again, rubbing his sore fingers from all the exertion of convincing the stupid glue to drip from the bottle.

He liked it that way, though, being _insane_ or _crazy_ or whatever is preferred. It made him think… _clearly_, made him who he was today—without it, he would be shapeless, malformed, nothing.

Briefly, he wondered if Archer was going to get him a damn sandwich or something, but he knew he was too busy with that idiotic Liore-campaign that he was just _dying_ to go to. Besides, he much preferred the solitude of the attic over the company of that man anyway—peace, quiet, his own thoughts retracting and expanding as they pleased.

Ah yes, to be sane would be a shame. To be sane—well, he dared not even think of such an atrociously disgusting idea. He much adored the way he was whether or not everyone else liked it! Why should he have to conform himself to the standards of modern… _sane_ ideas? No reason he could think of.

Nimbly his fingers worked, placing each piece together craftily. He could have been an artist had he not already taken the path he chose all those years ago—

"Lieutenant Colonel Zolf J. Kimbley, would you please join me in the drawing room? I have some business to discuss with you."

He started at the sound of Archer's voice, his hand slipping and the cap to the glue rolling underneath his dresser.

"Be right there, _Colonel_," he replied, groping around for the glue-cap and clicking it onto the bottle.

He scoffed, knowing Archer wasn't that far along the military branch _just_ yet. Oh well, no need to be so formal to that ghost. They'd be in Liore soon enough, with all the _sirs_ and _yessirs_ attached. Though… there would be the small perk of feeding the voracious appetite of that insanity of his.

Pressing his fingertips to his masterpiece, he examined it with a dose of reflection.

"Beautiful as you've ever been, you monster," he whispered to it lovingly, running a finger down a partially-completed temple and another across a jagged canine jutting from the decayed gums. "…because you know I love you, Greed."

He pressed his lips to the half-finished skull, cradling it to him like the most precious treasure in the world.

_You're insane._

_…I can think of much better._


End file.
